


Just Being Alive Don’t Get You Saved, If There’s More Than One Way to Be Okay

by allmilhouse



Category: Barry (TV 2018)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Sex in a Car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:34:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23118556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmilhouse/pseuds/allmilhouse
Summary: After a bad audition, Barry reflects on the parallels between his professional life and his not-relationship with Hank
Relationships: Barry Berkman/NoHo Hank
Comments: 9
Kudos: 58





	Just Being Alive Don’t Get You Saved, If There’s More Than One Way to Be Okay

**Author's Note:**

> trying to get back on my Barry bullshit!! Title from The Boy Who Could Explode by Matthew Good

In a secluded corner of a parking lot deep up in somewhere in Coldwater Canyon, Barry Berkman was watching the sun rise as he was getting a blowjob. He reached out, tapping his fingers on the dashboard of the car just for the sake of it, as Hank of all people took him deeper in his throat. 

Hank’s hand sought out Barry’s, pulling it onto the back of his head, and giving it a slow but repetitive rhythm, bobbing up and down. He didn’t want to take too much from Hank, but when the man insisted, well, Barry couldn’t refuse. 

In their short time together, Hank had proven to be some kind of sex genius, and despite Barry’s general misgivings about the oddball gangster, he never turned down a “You up?” text. He was getting a bit tired of the whole car sex routine though, but he hadn’t been able to come up with a good enough solution yet. Taking Hank home was out of the question, and renting a hotel room just seemed a little sleazy. Not to mention he absolutely didn’t want that kind of paper trail. Having to explain why he kept meeting Hank was the last thing Barry wanted. 

Until Hank swallowed around the head of his cock, and he amended that. Never seeing Hank again was the real last thing he wanted. He pulled his hand back to tap on Hank’s shoulder, a wordless warning that he was about to come, but Hank carried on like the professional he was, licking and swallowing Barry through a slow but satisfying orgasm he could feel down to his bones. 

He pulled back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, not enough to remove the cocky grin from his face. Pulling a floral handkerchief out of the side of the door, he got Barry cleaned and zipped up as Barry watched him lazily. “Can I, uh, return the favor?” he asked when Hank had finished. 

Hank’s face betrays his eagerness, and Barry’s reaching for his belt before he can say anything. He tends to like Barry’s hands, bigger than his own, and rougher, Barry having not taken to Hank’s beloved nine step skincare routine yet. Already so worked up, it didn’t take long for him to come, and then they were awkwardly veering into afterglow territory, arms not quite touching on the armrest. 

“So, got time for breakfast or?” Hank asked, not quite hiding the eagerness in his voice that strikes somewhere deep in Barry’s chest. 

“No, I can’t. I’ve got an audition later. I have to go to class and prepare for it first. It’s a whole process.”

“An audition?” Hank’s face lit up with pure excitement. “I’m so happy for you, bro! If I can do anything to help your process-“

“No, I’m good.”

Unfazed, Hank continued. “Call me if I can do anything, I mean _anything_ to help you.” 

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, checking the time. “Well I should probably get to work.” He got out of the car and walked to his own, ignoring Hank’s enthusiastic waving. 

###

“Hank? It’s Barry.”

“Barry! My man! How did the audition go?”

“Uh, bad. Look, it’s a long story, but can you pick me up?”

“Sure!”

He waits a second. “I’m out in Century City.”

Hank doesn’t miss a beat. “Text me the address. I’m on my way.”

Forty five minutes later Hank pulls up. He seems hesitant when Barry gets in, like he’s using up all his willpower not to ask any prying questions. Barry decides to show mercy on him. 

“Look, I had a bad audition. I’m feeling discouraged and I don’t want to talk about it.” He spares a side glance at Hank. “I would like to be distracted.”

Hank considers. “We could go back to mine? Have you been to the stash house? Like, recently?”

Barry shook his head. 

“You should come over, see what I’ve done with the place.” With no other options, Barry found it difficult to resist. 

It was a mostly quiet drive back to stash house, with Barry lost in thought, and Hank indulging in a rare silence. He was normally the happy go lucky, friendly guy, and Barry could tell it was paining him not to be chit-chatting the whole drive. And even though he was often irritated by him, Barry found he’d rather be around Friendly Hank than Quiet Hank, who could be thinking anything.

“Check it out! Very MTV Cribs, right?” Hank’s dated reference pulled Barry out of his thoughts as they pulled up the drive. He gave a weak smile in reply, as they headed towards the mob house Barry had raided once upon a time. He realized it felt like years ago, and that hit him hard too. 

Barry caught up to him at the doorstep, where Hank was all smiles and friendly demeanor. Friendly Hank definitely overlapped with Tour Guide Hank, and Barry was getting the grand tour around the new and improved stash house. “Ice cream machine is over here- I recommend the rocky road,” Hank added mock-confidentially, as Barry just nodded along, taking it all in. Hank’s empire was built for fencing- consumer goods mostly, but they had the right setup for rare items or jewellery too. And far be it for a murderer to judge a mobster, but Barry struggled to reconcile charismatic Hank with someone bloodthirsty enough to run this kind of operation, until he noticed the many motivational posters on the walls. Classic Hank. 

“And this is my room,” Hank finished triumphantly, leading Barry into bright, cheery space. He recognized most of the furniture from his own trip to Ikea a few months back, when he moved in with his classmates and had to pretend to be a normal human again. It was open and warm and very _Hank_. 

“It’s nice,” he said, to break the silence. 

“Thanks! I need my own space, you know? Somewhere to decentralize and focus on myself. You should see it in the daytime though. The view is to die for!” He cleared a pile of self-help books off of the bed so they could sit down. “Cristobal recommended most of these,” he explained apologetically, as if Barry had really paid any attention to them. 

“How’s it going? With the Bolivians, I mean?” Barry was almost afraid to ask. Hank has his life with the Bolivians now, and he had chosen the acting class. 

“Super great! They’re so chill, you know. It’s almost like working with you again, only like, not _quite_ as good.”

Barry nodded tightly. “It’s good you were able to replace me so quickly.”

“Hey, it wasn’t my choice. You said you wanted to go straight.” Hank winked, always the charmer, and Barry chuckled before getting thoughtful again. 

He wanted to ask Hank how he did it. How he got up every morning and did a job he was just completely unsuited for, even though it seemed to give him joy. How he continued in the wake of failures, succeeding only through blind luck. 

Hank reached for his hand, derailing his train of thought. Stroking a thumb along the back of his hand, Barry felt the wordless reassurance meant by the gesture, and smiled back at Hank.

Sitting together on Hank’s bed, Barry thought about how odd a pair they made, Hank’s sunny disposition clashing with his own perpetual frown. But then, he reflected, Hank would have these flashes of competence, just little things here and there that showed he was an experienced professional and not just some grinning idiot. He was rapidly becoming one of the few people Barry could relax around, slowly letting his guard down just enough for Hank to slip under, worming his weird little way around Barry’s heart. 

It’s not like he could talk to Sally about any of this, or god forbid, Fuches. But Hank could be understanding, with an optimistic nod, a playful clap on the shoulder, and a “why worry bro? It’ll all work out!” slipping from his lips. Lips that were now dangerously close to his own. 

They kissed slowly, and carefully. Normally they didn’t have the time or space for such luxuries, but now felt like the right time to slow down and spread out. Barry leaned over Hank, crowding him until he was laying across the bed. 

Hank reached up, cupping Barry’s face with both of his hands. He held him softly, like he was a prized possession, so precious and fragile. He stroked a cheek with his thumb, before the moment passed and they were kissing again, passion and urgency taking precedence over tenderness. 

###

Morning came, with bright sunlight flooding into Hank’s bedroom. Barry wakes up to the man himself taking up most of the bed, his pale legs stretched out, and one arm slung over Barry’s chest possessively. The fingers shifted softly, and Barry realized that Hank was already awake. 

“Didn’t take you for a morning person,” he noted as Hank continued tickling his chest hair. 

“Most productive time of day,” Hank explains as his hand dips lower. “Want to do something productive?”

He’s tempted- sorely tempted, but it seems like too much too soon. He doesn’t want Hank getting any _ideas_. 

“I need a shower.”

Hank hums as he stretches, retracting his hand and pulling back, while still revelling in the warmth and domesticity of the moment. “I’ll make breakfast then?” Not waiting for a reply, he kisses Barry on the cheek before rolling out of bed. He seems suited for this, completely in his element as he steps into his slippers and sashays down the stairs. Barry watches him go before slipping into the bathroom. His own morose face stares back from the mirror and he frowns. 

When he enters the kitchen twenty minutes later, Hank hands him a cup of coffee. He’s wearing a “Kiss the Cook” apron and a big smile. Barry nods, taking a seat at the table. “Where is everyone?” 

“Team building exercise. Cristobal’s got them all at the beach.” 

“Shouldn’t you be there?”

Hank shrugged, turning back to the counter. “The guys can win one beach volleyball game without me, and if not-“ He dramatically cut open a grapefruit, and Barry laughed. They snacked on fruit while Hank worked on the eggs. “It’ll be the fluffiest omelette you’ve ever had,” he promised. 

The morning slipped away as they ate and laughed, Barry’s replies getting shorter and his laughs growing more hollow. His audition kept replaying itself in his mind, over and over. _”We’re sorry, Mr Block, but...”_

“I blew it.”

“What?” He hadn’t meant to say that aloud but Hank was looking up from his phone at him. It’s a bad sign when Co-Star could wait. He sighed. 

“The audition. Yesterday, I completely blew the audition. They said I wasn’t _believably happy_.”

Hank snorted. “Well, that’s bullshit. And we both know it.”

“Do we?” He looked up, finally meeting Hank’s nonchalant gaze. “Maybe I’m not happy. Maybe I’m not a good actor. Maybe I fucking suck at all of this. Maybe I never should’ve left Cleveland.” 

Hank was oddly quiet for a moment, his eyes focused on something just out of Barry’s sightline. He swallowed a few times before speaking. “Do- do you remember our first hit? When you shot Ryan Madison and then shot me?”

He wanted to argue it wasn’t _their hit_ , but Hank continued. 

“I had a dash cam in our car, and it caught everything. Goran was so furious with me, everyone was stressed, just so many bad vibes, and I told you I was worried they’d kill me. Remember what you said?”

Barry shook his head. “No, that was so long ago-“ 

“It was eight months ago,” Hank smiled patiently, “and you called me a fucking idiot and said he should kill me.” 

“Jesus,” he exhaled slowly, frowning. “Look, Hank, I’m sorry. I don’t remember that at all, and I didn’t mean it. I- I’m sorry, man.”

Hank shrugged, trying to play it cool, but a small wobble in his voice gave him away. “That wasn’t the point. It’s just- I know it hurts when someone you respect tells you you suck. And it hurts even more when they’re right.” He paused then, looking worriedly at Barry. “Look, I think you’re a great actor. You can prove them wrong, and win an Oscar, or whatever your version of taking over a mob is. But you are happy. Your vibe is like, crazy positive. Ever since you stopped doing hits, there’s this spark in your eyes. You’re thriving, bro! Even with the setbacks, you’re happier.” 

He blinked at Hank, not absorbing it at first. “So you’re saying what’s good for me is the thing I’m bad at? And it feels right even though I could never picture myself here, doing this? And just because I’m closed off and scared of emotions and shit, people still believe in me and care about me and want to see me?”

“Well, I don’t know if I said all that,” Hank frowns as he tries to follow along, but Barry reaches for his hand, squeezing it tightly. They stay like that, the perfect picture of cozy intimacy, a role that Barry’s determined to land.


End file.
